


I Have No Heart, I'm Cold Inside

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Foster wins, Humiliation, IBTYF Dark Verse, IBTYF-inspired, Ice Play, M/M, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Inspired by I Belong to You Forever by KyluxFicHellIn a darker version of events, Ray Foster has claimed John and is making good use of his new submissive.





	I Have No Heart, I'm Cold Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Belong to You Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017614) by [KyluxFicHell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyluxFicHell/pseuds/KyluxFicHell). 



> An image reference which may be useful when reading (non-explicit): https://s3-ap-southeast-1.amazonaws.com/knots-and-pans/items/products/VWLSHK/media/gin-tonic-ice-balls-moulds-1515-cZR.jpg
> 
> Please read the tags and note that this fic deals with non-con, do not read if you are uncomfortable with this content.

“Swallow, and don’t move.”

The drawled instructions were accompanied by the clink of ice in Foster’s glass as he took another long sip of gin. John – on his knees between Foster’s legs - didn’t dare do anything but obey. For all the times that he’d swallowed down Foster’s release, it didn’t get any less unpleasant, and the feeling of it certainly wasn’t improved by the weight of Foster’s softening cock still pressing down on his tongue.

“Not bad,” Foster said after a moment, and John hated how the almost-praise didn’t turn his stomach like it used to do, “You’re getting better at that. Practice will make perfect, I suppose.” And John _was_ getting plenty of practice – every morning, usually at least once during the day, and then at parties…

He clamped down on that train of thought before it could travel any further, refocusing on the feeling of Foster’s cock in his mouth, because that was distracting enough and certainly a lesser evil than thinking about Foster’s parties.

After a few moments of fiercely trying to keep his mind from wandering, Foster was nudging John back a little, sliding his dick out of John’s mouth – and it was near-impossible to resist the urge to wipe his mouth clean of the saliva that had spilled out during the blowjob, but he knew Foster hated that. Without any other instructions, John stayed kneeling – knees protesting, because he’d been kneeling under Foster’s desk for at least an hour by this point – and watched Foster take another languid sip of his drink, ridiculous ball of ice clinking against the glass as he did.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, John?” The question was low, and dangerous, and sent a sickening chill of panic through John before his mind could latch onto what Foster was getting at.

His cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment.

“Thank you, sir,” John mumbled, voice hoarse and scratchy, and met only with an expectant look from Foster. It made John want to curl up and hide away from the words spilling from his own mouth. “Thank you for letting me suck your cock, sir,” he corrected, soft and embarrassed.

The words were a newer part of the routine. Typical of Foster that every time John was starting to get used to his predicament, a new, horrible layer was added to it. The words were by and far John’s least favourite addition, though; he couldn’t ignore what he himself was being made to say.

Foster seemed satisfied with that, at least. For a few moments, things were still, and quiet, and John thought he might be able to get away with just staying knelt under the desk for a little while, not having to suffer Foster’s attentions.

It was wishful thinking.

“Up you get, then,” Foster said, and John guessed at what he was going to say next before the words even came out, “Bend over the desk. Legs spread.”

As he stood up – legs a little shaky from kneeling for so long – John tried not to let his gaze meet Foster’s, turning around and taking a tremulous breath before bending himself neatly over the desk. He’d given up a long time ago on trying to keep any sort of dignity in this position; if he didn’t spread his legs, they’d be forced apart, and John wanted to save himself the pain of that. He could comfort himself at least with the knowledge that Foster fucking him wasn’t an immediate threat – John was very intimately familiar with the man’s refractory period.

Whatever comfort he got from that notion, though, was quickly dispelled when – after a few lingering moments of nothing seeming to happen – John realised he had no idea what Foster might have in store. It sounded like the dom was still sipping at his drink – probably just watching John squirm, which he so clearly enjoyed – the gentle clink of the ice in his glass not giving away much at all, and making the nervous tension in John’s limbs gradually ramp up until-

John whimpered as a sensation – cold, but so sudden when it first appeared that John almost mistook it for burning heat – landed on the arch of his back. It was so abrupt and unexpected that John couldn’t help but shrink away from it, trying to press himself further against the desk and earning a low, condescending chuckle from behind.

“Do you like that?” Foster purred, and the answer was no, John really, really didn’t. The ball of ice – because John had realised now that that was the cause of the sensation – was dragged further down the curve of John’s spine, and he barely stifled another whimper as he anticipated its trajectory. John bit his lip and shuddered as the cold, wet sensation slid down the crack of his arse – cruelly slow – then down further. It was impossible not to try to buck away from the sensation as the ice settled snugly against John’s balls – oversensitive still from being waxed bare yesterday morning – but Foster seemed to anticipate that, one firm hand holding John’s hips in place as the torturously cold sensation teased over his most sensitive parts.

As the tingling cold was dragged back up over John’s perineum, an unmistakable, sharp _buzz_ permeated the quiet of the room, and John felt his stomach roll sickeningly. He knew that sound. It was the sound of Foster summoning his assistant – something he had no qualms about doing, regardless of the state John was in. It was always worst when John was bent over the desk, though, on embarrassing display and facing the door.

He closed his eyes tightly, and tipped his head down against the desk, and stifled something like a sob that was threatening to rise in his throat as Foster rolled the ball of ice leisurely over John’s entrance – still a little loose and open from the toy Foster had pressed into him before a meeting earlier that morning.

John heard the click of the door opening, and approaching footsteps, and staunchly didn’t open his eyes.

“I’ll have lunch at my desk, arrange for it to be brought up at half past,” Foster was saying, hands still on John, ice now trailing over the bump of his tailbone – back and forth ‘til the spot was almost numb – “And take the glass away, I’ve finished with it.”

It didn’t immediately strike John as odd. He was more focused on waiting for Foster’s assistant to leave the room, feeling something almost akin to relief when the footsteps backed away, and the door clicked shut again, and only then did it strike him.

Foster’s empty glass was gone, but there was still the ball of ice – slightly melted now to about two thirds of its original size – with no apparent place to go.

As if he was following the pace of John’s thoughts – or, more likely, seeing the sudden nervous clench of John’s arse - Foster chuckled softly from behind him.

“Where shall I put this, then?” It wasn’t a real question. Foster had already decided, John already knew, so now there was only the sickly anticipation of waiting for it to actually happen. The ice was dragged down from the now-numb spot it had been sliding over, ‘til it was placed firmly over John’s entrance. He took in a shaky breath, because he wasn’t particularly stretched, and this thing was _big_ and unyielding and sent unpleasant tingles of cold dancing over John’s skin.

Foster pushed, and John couldn’t help but tense against the pressure of it. It would be too much. It already burned against his skin, it would hurt too much pressed inside. He knew it would hurt too much and he couldn’t, he’d already sucked Foster off, wasn’t that enough? Couldn’t he just be allowed a bit of a reprieve from-

“John.” His name sounded sour on Foster’s tongue. “I have a whole tray of these in the freezer. So, you can be a good boy, and open up for just this one, or I can have somebody fetch a few more that haven’t melted at all.”

John shuddered helplessly at the thought.

There was pressure again, Foster twisting the smooth ball of ice as he pushed it forward against John’s entrance and this time – with a shuddering exhale that came out almost like a sob – John forced himself to bear down on it.

“That’s better,” Foster said, and the praise didn’t help at all. It only sent another horrible spike of humiliation through John as he felt the ball of ice slowly stretching him open. It was impossible to ignore, the cold making him hyperaware of the stretch, and Foster was taking his sweet time easing the thing into him. “That suits you,” the dom praised lowly, and John tried to ignore the words, mind already abuzz with the almost overwhelming sensation, “Look at how well you take it when you’re actually trying.”

John could only tell that the ball had been pressed about halfway in because Foster stopped, thumbing around the partly-numbed rim of John’s hole for a moment, obviously relishing the stretch just as much as John was hating it. Then, with two more firm nudges, the ball of ice was buried in John properly – feeling horribly uncomfortable, and scaldingly cold, his body protesting against the heavy intrusion.

Foster seemed pleased, but John had learned early on that Foster being pleased rarely translated to good news for him.

Sure enough, a moment later John was jolting forward as a sharp swat landed on his arse, drawing out a whimper of surprised pain as he clenched helplessly around the unyielding ice inside of him, making Foster chuckle.

“Stand up now, John. Face me.”

Even stood in front of Foster, who was still sat in his chair, John felt smaller. Perhaps because he was naked and Foster was fully clothed. Perhaps because he was distinctly and unavoidably aware of the object lodged inside of him, purely for Foster’s twisted enjoyment. More than likely, it was knowing that Foster could do whatever he pleased to John, and John couldn’t stop him.

He kept his eyes cast down.

“I think this room needs a dust,” Foster said, opening his desk drawer to pull out a little feather duster that John was intimately familiar with. It wasn’t the first time he’d been given this inane little chore to do for Foster’s amusement, and if Foster had decided to press the handle of the duster inside of him to accompany the slowly melting ball of ice, that wouldn’t have been unfamiliar either. John took the duster with only the slightest hint of upset on his face. “You’re a smart boy, John, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but just in case you haven’t cottoned on…”

A hand was abruptly twisted into his hair, and John gasped softly at the stinging pain as he was dragged forward by it.

“You won’t like what happens if you let that fall out before it’s melted.”

And then, Foster let go of his hair, and gave John’s arse a playful tap. “Go on, then. Get to it.”

John stepped away from the desk – painfully aware of his own awkward gait – and tried to pretend that Foster wasn’t watching him as he began dusting along the shelf.

The ice melted agonisingly slowly.

After about ten minutes, John could barely feel it either – the cold numbing where he was clenched around the gradually shrinking intrusion. What he could feel was the humiliating drip of icy water down his inner thighs, and the heat of Foster’s gaze following him around the room.

Now finished with another countertop, John hesitated. Currently, he was stood with his legs pressed firmly together, and he was half-certain the ice would slip out of him if he moved – which would mean a punishment, one that Foster was no doubt eager to dole out.

“Why don’t you do the skirting boards?” Foster suggested from across the room, and even just at the simple suggestion, John felt his heart quicken. Usually, when he dusted the skirting boards, he crouched. That obviously wasn’t what Foster had in mind, and Foster was quick to clarify that. “Bend down nice and low, keep that lovely arse up in the air. That should help.”

The words were said as if the whole thing wasn’t entirely for Foster’s benefit.

Still, John obeyed, clenching desperately despite the biting numbness in his arse as he inched over to the stretch of exposed skirting board that Foster had been referring to. With only a scarce moment of hesitation, he bent at the waist – having to spread his legs a little to keep balance – and tried not to think about how he looked as he ran the feather duster shakily over the skirting board.

John was so absorbed in the task, and in trying to keep any remaining remnant of the ice ball from slipping out of him, that he barely noticed Foster’s presence behind him ‘til a shockingly warm hand was on his arse, squeezing firmly and spreading him open for Foster’s appraisal. John knew better than to stop dusting as the dom’s thumb rubbed firmly over John’s clenched entrance.

“Dirty thing,” Foster purred, the pad of his thumb massaging over John’s hole until he couldn’t help but relax a little against it, “Dripping all over my carpet. I ought to punish you for that.” A two-fingered slap landed against John’s entrance, and it wasn’t particularly firm, but the ice had left John’s skin raw and tingling enough that he cried out softly at the sensation, hips trying to twitch away only to be held in place by Foster’s hand. “But then, you’ve been very good, following my orders and giving me a nice little show. Is it all melted yet?”

There was a lingering pause before John realised Foster was expecting an answer. He suspected Foster wouldn’t be best pleased with the truth: that John didn’t know, he could barely feel it anymore. So John picked a lie, and hoped it was right.

“Yes, sir.”

Without warning, a finger was slipped inside of John, quickly joined by another. John was accustomed enough to these sudden intrusions by now that he barely gasped, just shifted slightly to brace himself against the wall and shuddered. The thick digits inside of him were warm, in stark contrast to the melting ice, and it sent a confusing mix of sensations lancing through John – none of which were very nice.

Apparently satisfied, Foster withdrew his fingers.

“Good boy. All melted. Look at that, you’ve learned a new _party trick_. I can’t wait to show that one off.” The words sent a shiver through John that had nothing to do with the gradually dissipating cold. He didn’t want to do that in front of other people. He could barely stand to do it in front of Foster with the dom’s leering gaze on him. Still, he didn’t protest.

“Now,” Foster pressed on, and his hips rocked against John’s arse, just enough that John could feel he was hard again in his trousers. “I should warm you up a little. Would you like that, John?”

It was phrased as a question, and John knew what that meant. He hated this new fixation of Foster’s.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly, as if making the words soft enough would lessen their impact. It didn’t, not really. He heard the sound of Foster’s fly being unzipped as he continued: “Please warm me up.”

Foster moaned, evidently pleased with the reply, and that was all the heads-up John got before the dom gripped his hips firmly and settled the head of his cock against John’s entrance, rubbing against it for a moment before pressing in.

John ought to have been used to be fucked without proper preparation, but it still felt like all of the air had been knocked out of him. He pressed closer to the wall, as if that would grant him any forgiveness from the unrelenting slide of Foster’s cock, and clenched his eyes shut and heard the frantic little sounds of his own breath catching in his throat.

Foster’s cock was turgid and hot inside of him, a stark contrast to the blistering cold of the ice ball. He stayed like that for just a moment, fully seated, grunting lowly at the way John twitched around the sudden fullness, and then he was pulling out and thrusting back in, setting a punishing pace that had John’s legs trembling and nearly giving out beneath him, his whole body sore and exhausted and ready for this to be over.

Even with the heat of Foster’s prick, the lingering chill of the ice remained, the combined sensation overwhelming in the most unpleasant of ways – impossible to adjust to or ignore. It was with a broken little sob of relief, then, that John felt Foster’s thrusts slow, scalding release filling him and John couldn’t even bring himself to care. Couldn’t bring himself to care as Foster slapped his arse just to feel John tighten and squirm as he pulled out, couldn’t bring himself to care about the horrible feeling of Foster’s release dripping out of him, couldn’t bring himself to care about anything as his legs finally gave out to the onslaught of sensation and he collapsed loose-limbed against the carpeted floor – horribly aware that it was barely past one in the afternoon, and it was impossible that Foster planned to leave him alone for the rest of the working day.

Sure enough…

“Get yourself up, then,” Foster said, sounding almost bored now that he’d had his fill, “Under the desk again. You can keep my cock warm while I have my lunch.”

With a shuddering sigh, taking only a scant moment to wipe the wetness away from his eyes, John pulled himself up from the floor on unsteady legs, and moved to obey.


End file.
